American comics: Praising the sun, starting from Gotham!

"Ah! My sword!"

"Damn it! That's my zipper!"

Amidst the clanging and clattering, these elite warriors, who just seconds before seemed like invincible steel cans, now resembled mantis shrimp with their shells peeled off.

Aside from their black shirts, their overall defense instantly dropped to zero.

Paul's bright red cloak, no longer secured by his shoulder armor, was slowly fluttering down.

His upper body, covered in scars, appeared exceptionally thin, though he was only wearing a torn vest.

He still maintained the posture of holding the sword with both hands.

But in reality, I was holding nothing but loneliness.

The Holy Flame Greatsword had already spun and flown to the pile of metal scrap behind Xiu En.

Xiu picked up the helmet and mask.

He pressed his thumb into it, creating a dent, then shook his head as if evaluating a cheap trinket: "This is your sacred armor? Only 15% titanium alloy, the rest is all high-carbon steel. I thought the cult would be quite wealthy, but it turns out they also take kickbacks on their purchases."

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the group of knights who instinctively tried to cover their bodies with their hands. The expression on his face—as if he were looking at sanitation workers who hadn't even sorted the garbage correctly—devastated everyone's faith.

"Hey! I said?"

Bill, who had been lying down nearby, finally snapped out of his shock at the miracle. He realized the situation and his fearless, swaggering spirit as a Gotham local right-winger kicked in.

He scrambled to his feet, picked up the knights' dropped weapons, and pointed at the group of lone knights with a smug, triumphant laugh: "Isn't this pretty bad? Huh? Weren't you so cocky when you fired? Come on! Fire another bullet to give us some fun!"

Seeing this, Bill's henchmen picked up various weapons and surrounded him as if they wanted to vent all the frustration they had felt from being suppressed by heavy firepower.

"For the light!"

"Who's the toughest in Gotham? It's Wayne Enterprises! It's the consultants! It's our god!"

Paul gritted his teeth, his face redder than when he was wearing the mask, a feeling of humiliation making him even more flushed.

He looked around at the Gotham thugs who were carrying bricks and broken weapons, their eyes filled with religious fervor.

Then he looked at Xiu En, who was standing in the very center and had turned him into a clown with just a flick of his finger.

Reason told him that without weapons, he and his men would truly be devoured alive by this group of construction site thugs.

"retreat……"

The knight commander glared fiercely at Xiu En.

"You will pay for today's humiliation! Heretic! We will appeal to the Supreme Court for the Angels of Death! Next time, the procession won't be so merciful!"

After saying that, the tough guy, whose belt buckle had been confiscated, clutched his loose tactical pants and led his even more disheveled men out through the blasted gap.

Xiu En didn't chase after them. He looked at the mountain of plate armor and greatswords and nodded in satisfaction: "Remember to tell them to wear more high-tungsten-content armor next time they apply for an agreement. Too much ordinary steel will make them choke."

However, for the Knights of St. Dumas, who had just experienced the greatest ups and downs of their lives, this morning clearly wasn't going to let them off easily.

Paul, a man who, even after losing his belt, still tried to maintain the dignity of a commander.

He and his men rushed out of the gap in the underground mixing area in a very disheveled state and crawled into the sewers.

According to the tactics manual, as long as they are out of the sight of that golden demon, they can retreat safely.

But he clearly hadn't read the latest version update notes for Gotham.

Just as the group of knights, now stripped of their armor, ran into the corner of the pipe and were about to breathe a sigh of relief, a series of footsteps, even more orderly and awe-inspiring than the underground collapse they had just witnessed, came from the darkness ahead.

"Stop!"

Paul instinctively made a stop gesture.

"All personnel on alert! What...is there?"

"For the sun!"

His response was a series of roars and rows of modified searchlights shoved directly into the knights' faces!

In the light, a man in a tense pose blocked the passage.

It's Joestar.

Behind him stood a group of equally muscular, burly men.

They are a group of elite, muscular men from Gotham who have worked as bricklayers on the docks and lifted weights in prison.

"I felt it!"

Joestar pointed at the group of bewildered Knights of St. Dumas, tears welling up in his eyes from the emotion.

"I sensed the presence of the Lord! Over there! And this group..."

He looked at the group of people with disdain.

"These shameless exhibitionists are turning away from the light! They are fleeing the Lord's grace! This is the greatest blasphemy!"

"what?"

Paul only managed to utter one word, his face filled with disbelief as he looked at the group of muscle men who somehow ended up in the sewers, asking, "How dare you call us exhibitionists?"

"Euro!"

Joestar threw a punch.

"Euro!"

Joestar threw a punch.

This group of muscle-bound cultists crashed into the Knights, whose defenses were already at zero after losing their equipment.

Saint Duma's fighting skills, which he was originally proud of, proved useless in the face of this kind of physical collision that was like risking his life, and the dumbbells weighing a hundred or two hundred pounds in his hands.

The narrow sewer was instantly filled with the muffled thuds and roars of fists colliding.

A knight of St. Dumas tried to grab his opponent with a grappling technique, only to find that the opponent's arm was thicker than his thigh, and he was lifted up and thrown against the wall.

"Purify these filthy heretics!"

As Joestar swung his lamppost to knock out a knight who was still reciting scriptures, he looked up at the holy golden light emanating from Shuen through the gap.

"Only a will and body of steel can serve that supreme glory!"

At this time.

Shuen was directing the workers to sort the pile of plate armor, while Ivy was manipulating vines to pack up the sealed Hell Gate.

Hearing the screams and the sounds of hand-to-hand combat that made you want to cover your eyes and ears coming from the pipes not far away, Xiu En turned around and glanced back.

Although there was a wall between them, his senses could clearly depict the scene inside.

A group of big guys are beating up another group of big guys who have just lost their protective shell.

"..."

Ivy's sunflower expression is probably a giant old man's subway phone emoji pack; possessing natural perception, she perceives it more clearly than Xiu En.

"Has your religion degenerated to the point of proselytizing through physical brawls?"

"Hey, you know I didn't teach him this, I haven't even bothered with him."

Xiu En popped a bullet into his mouth and chewed it with a crunching sound.

"But I have to say, compared to these tin cans who only know how to bully people with their equipment, those idiots who talk with their muscles are even more powerful."

He casually pulled a bent steel bar from the pile of scrap metal next to him, aimed at the pipe opening, and threw it with force.